


Aftermath

by automaticheartache



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Bering & Wells - Freeform, F/F, Forever, Import, Myka Bering deserved better, Warehouse 13 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/automaticheartache/pseuds/automaticheartache
Summary: This was originally written pre-season 4: the warehouse is in ruins and Myka is determined to use what little they have left to rewrite history with a little help from her warehouse family. With some warehouse trickery, a wing, and a prayer, Myka, Pete, Claudia, and Artie are catapulted into the past to try and fix their ravaged future and save more than one life.  Myka/Helena. Cameos by a few Eureka folks... (This is an import from FF and is complete, I will be posting new chapters every few days until they're all moved over!)





	1. After the Bombs

Secret Service Agent Myka Bering paced nervously, back and forth, kicking aside the charred remnants of her once beautiful warehouse as she did so. She glanced over at Claudia and Artie, heads together, speaking in hushed tones while Claudia's nimble fingers danced over the pocket watch Artie had produced only moments before. Claudia was pulling tiny brass and copper fixtures from a worn leather satchel and fixing them all over the face and edges of the watch with a delicate silver screwdriver. She had already seen Claudia fasten what looked like a monocle to the timepiece and was now working it over, turning it, inspecting and augmenting her modifications.

Myka sighed and drew a long rope of chocolate brown hair between her fingers, winding it round and around. Her boots continued to scuff the warehouse floor, kicking up ash, and blackened artifacts, their edges still smoldering a dull orange – bits and pieces of her now dismantled home. Something crunched beneath her foot and she recognized the mangled frame of the glasses she was wearing in the Ovoid Quarantine just before the blast. She shifted her weight and heard the screech of shattered glass as it scraped against the cold concrete floor.

She dropped the strand of hair and moved to check her service weapon, ready at her side. She took another deep breath, trying to steady her nerves and steel her resolve. She checked her Tesla, her pockets, her pulse and ran a hand through her straightened dark hair. Her hand fell to the delicate gold chain that wound its way loosely around her neck. She traced the line of the chain across her collarbone to the gold locket hanging, heavy, on her chest.

The locket, the same locket she had plucked from the floor before entering the Regent Sanctum, now acted as an anchor tying her to her purpose. She could feel herself become calm, centered, connected by an invisible tether to the meaning, the history and the necklace's most recent owner. She pressed the cold metal of the locket until it warmed, until she was certain it would leave the faintest impression on her skin. She then brought it to her lips and brushed them lightly across its etched surface. A shiver ran down her spine.

Myka was unaccustomed to Pete's "vibes", as he called them. She had never been easily swayed by forces outside her own powers of observation. Even as a warehouse agent, she remained ever-skeptical and all of her creative faculties were pushed to extremes coping with the daily parade of the impossible. It would be unfair to say that Agent Bering had a limited scope when it came to her imagination. She could see entire universes and alternate realities in her mind's eye, nestled safely between the pages of a book. She could create complex plans, using intuition and foresight, and execute them with grace. She could envision a future where her family, her home, were safe and the wreckage of the last few hours passing were little more than the suggestion of memory.

But still, she was certain that the locket called to her. She had, as Pete would call it, a serious vibe. It was unsettling, to say the least, that she was entertaining the notion that this object could sway her so. She felt a tugging, a physical ache in her chest when she decided to slip it over her head. And now it practically burned her skin where it rested. It was a metaphysical heat that cradled the locket as it hung loosely, but still, it was unsettling.

She could not yet bring herself to open it, for fear of what she might find. She couldn't bear the idea of Helena's smiling daughter gazing back at her. Guilt hit Myka like a wave and she realized that, should the attempts of Claudia and Artie be unsuccessful, Helena would forever be Myka's own personal ghost, as Helena's daughter had been to her. Myka was already haunted by the ghost of HG Wells. Her presence, her smile, her foolish nobility, her darkness; it filled every corner of Myka's mind, a constant barrage of color and sound and longing and insufferable sadness. She saw, with closed eyes, the shape of Helena's mouth as she thanked Myka, in the last few seconds they would share together, radiating peace and gratitude before being engulfed in flames.

Myka's anger, her love, her sorrow, her desire for this one woman overwhelmed her and subsided, only to rise again and again in this terrible dance, until it finally settled somewhere in the center of her heart. She felt the sandpaper sting of tears behind her eyes and couldn't believe she still had any left to shed. Her cheeks were tight with the salt-dry tracks of too many tears already shed. Damn Helena! She would not become Myka's ghost. Myka would see to that.

She thought back to the moments immediately following the great destruction of the warehouse. After the blast, Myka went numb. Everything felt like it was on mute as she stumbled from their ill-gotten cocoon. She scanned the shambles surrounding her, searching for something, any sign that the last few seconds were a simple nightmare and she was free to wake. No luck. She sputtered and coughed, accidently inhaling the smoke and ash of her past and future, both aflame and peppering the air.

Myka hugged herself and hadn't even realized she'd spoken until Artie answered her. He had said something that sounded like hope, all might not be lost, but Myka could not even wrap her head around the possibility. She walked the perimeter of their tiny circle of clean white floor and thought of Helena. Tears began to inch their way down Myka's cheeks.

Only after Pete had stopped her terrible parade, did she realize she'd been crying. Pete brushed the tears from her cheek and crushed her to him in a fierce hug. He held her to him, perhaps a little too tightly, silently granting her the permission she needed to let go. She sobbed openly, her whole body wracked with grief, until she choked for air, hiccupping as she drew great panic breaths into her lungs. The impact of ruin continued to hit her in waves as she played out its history, cresting and crashing over her with unrelenting, violent force.

Suddenly her focus shifted and she pushed herself from Pete's tear-stained shoulder. "Pete, Claudia! Lena!"

Pete pulled his Farnsworth from his back pocket and thrust it into Myka's outstretched hand. She snatched it from him and snapped open he cover, shouting into the screen.

"Claudia? Claud, answer me. Claudia? Are you okay?"

The screen buzzed to life and snowed static for a moment as Claudia's face came into view. Even on the black and white screen of the Farnsworth, Myka could see Claudia was white as a sheet. Her dark eyeliner has been smudged around her eyes and she drew her face close to the screen as if to get a better look at Pete and Myka.

"Holy frak, Myka! You're alive!" Claudia choked out a thankful sob. Pete and Myka perked up. The junior agents voice came through clearly on the device, but also seemed to echo, small and distant, off the warehouse walls. "Oh god, Myka, Pete! I thought… Oh my…" Claudia trailed off into silence as she brought her eyes level with her surroundings for the first time.

"Claudia, where are you? Claud?" Claudia gave no response, struck dumb by the warehouse wasteland ahead of her.

"She must have come through the umbilicus… or what's left of it." Myka hastily dropped the Farnsworth and took off in a blind sprint toward their younger friend. She ran until her legs ached and only stopped when Claudia came into view several feet ahead of her in the hollowed out cavern of what was once the warehouse entrance. Myka picked carefully over the odds and ends strewn about at her feet. She tripped lightly on a mangled piano keyboard and realized, with a start, that she was wading through the remains of their office.

As Myka neared Claudia she realized that the redhead had her arms folded around her and that she was silently shaking while tears streamed from her eyes. She stretched up and called for Claudia to climb down to her. Coaxing her into an embrace as soon as Claudia's' boots hit the shrapnel strewn floor. She could feel the vibration as Claudia's words were swallowed in the embrace. "I thought you and Pete… Lena's okay, but Mrs. F… Myka, please… Please." Claudia's grip tightened and Myka stroked her hair, trying to provide some modicum of comfort in the midst of his chaos.

I'm here, Claudia. Pete and Artie are too. Helena…" the older agent's voice caught in her throat. "Don't worry Claudia, I'm not going to leave. You're stuck with us, remember? We'll never leave you." Claudia collapsed into Myka's embrace, giving into emotional exhaustion, "Not ever."

Myka snapped back to the present. Her eyes drifted to Artie and Claudia. She could still feel the weight of Claudia sinking into her arms, slack and sobbing. Myka closed her eyes and saw, clearly, the face of the woman she loved; heard the soft lilt in her voice, completely calm. A silent good-bye. She knew that if Artie and Claudia were successful in their tinkering they would all be given the chance to re-write history. Of two things Myka was certain: should they succeed, she was destined to save a life and end one in the process.


	2. The Past and Pending

Pete, Myka, Artie and Claudia all stood, shoulder to shoulder, circled around the pocket watch in Claudia's open palm. It was a mess of cogs and axles crowding the face of the watch and supporting the monocle fixed above it.

"Claud, you've created a monster." Pete tried to lighten up the situation, as per his usual antics. He nudged Claudia and motioned to the watch. "What is all..." he swirled his hands above it "this. It's a hot mess." Myka almost cracked a smile and was thankful for Pete and his ever-persistent ability to bring a person back around to laughter, even if it was at his own expense.

Artie snorted, "Yes, do tell why I just sat back and let you ravage one of the few artifacts we have left on your say so."

"Call it my labor of love. My magnum opus." Claudia shrugged and fidgeted slightly under their senior agent's scrutiny. "Well, I can't really take all the credit. It was more of a joint venture, really."

"An unsanctioned joint venture," Artie raised his voice and gestured emphatically, "that better work!"

"Keep your trouser's on gramps! It'll work. You're looking at a hybrid artifact cooked up by two of the greatest minds this warehouse has ever seen." Artie huffed and Myka heard a distinct 'that's pushing it' muttered under his breath. The meaning in Claudia's words sank in and her eyes flashed in realization.

"Helena" the name tumbled from Myka's lips before she had time to catch it. She kept her eyes trained low, tracing the workings of the watch. "That was Helena's bag you were working from, wasn't it?" The older woman had recognized the bag from the numerous days she'd stumble upon Helena, tinkering in the HG Wells section of the warehouse. She kept all manner of odds and ends squirreled away in its pocket-filled lining. Myka had simply assumed that the Regents had swept it up along with the rest of Helena's things when they collected her the previous year.

She was almost jealous of Claudia. Almost. Claudia had had something of HG's all this time. Her green eyes fluttered for a moment as her hand absently found its way to the locket around her neck and she traced its etchings with the pad of her thumb. Claudia recognized the gesture and the necklace, as both had belonged to the time traveler with whom she had conspired. Choosing not to comment, she continued.

"Sorry Myka, please don't be upset. It was kind of a secret. HG asked me to keep it on the DL. Even from you." She paused, "Especially from you."

Artie snorted again and crossed his arms over his barrel chest. He stared over his glasses at the young techie and gestured plainly, "Explain."

"Okay. Before HG went all end-the-world-y, she was working on a few projects and theories and I was..." Artie raised a suspicious eyebrow, daring Claudia to finish her sentence, "consulting. More like observing really"

The three agents treated Claudia to a look of begrudging disbelief. The young redhead threw her head back and exasperatedly conceded.

"Alright, alright! I begged her to give me a piece of the action! I was all over her work like a kid in a candy store! I was like a kid on crack and mama needed more of that sweet, sweet science! What that woman could do with her hands..." Claudia trailed off and looked from face to face surrounding her. "Too far?" Myka, Pete and Artie all nodded simultaneously, each looking slightly confused. Claudia smoothed her hair and tried to regain her composure before continuing.

"Anyway, HG was doing some experimental research on the augmentative properties of some artifacts when used in conjunction with others. She and I had talked at length about the incident where the Studio 54 disco ball and the Lewis Carrol mirror teamed up to suck Myka into creepy Alice-land. She was trying to find other artifacts that could interact with one another in similar ways.

"HG enlisted me for my research skills and extensive knowledge of the artifact manifest." She shot a look at Artie who glowered back. "Hey man, it's you're fault really. Who's the one who decided that every time I step a toe out of line, the punishment is inventory?"

"You hacked my computer, so that anytime I got an email, it played Hava Nagila at full volume! Inventory was the kindest form of tortured I could bestow without compromising the 'cruel and unusual' statute in play. It is not my responsibility that you chose to use your power's for evil, devil child!"

Pete and Myka were stifling snickers and it did their hearts good to know that even in the most dire of situations they could still count on their warehouse family to bicker like, well, family.

"Aaaaaanyway, HG also knew that I had a penchant for working outside protocol. A certain disregard for the rules, but in acceptable doses." Claudia flashed momentarily on the metronome tucked into the lining of the bag at her feet and swallowed before carrying on. "The important thing is that before she wanted to take down the world, she and I did good work. Really good work.

"We compiled a list of artifacts that could potentially work well together and, from time to time, one of us would knick one and do a small canon of tests. It was all very controlled and scientific; very safe."

Artie's jaw would soon hit the floor if Claudia continued. Her disregard for policy and, not to mention, safety was astounding and if it had not been for the fact that it might potentially save the warehouse he would have had some very strong words for her. As it stood, he could not punish her methods at the moment, as they stood on the precipice of something much larger than the flagrant disregard for rules.

"The day you kids kicked off to Egypt, she left the bag in my room with a note asking me to continue our research and not to tell Myka. She didn't want you involved in anything that might get you in to trouble or put you in harm's way."

"So that watch, and that monocle, they're both artifacts?" Pete mused.

"Yup. The monocle belonged to Alfred Lord Tennyson, it was said to give him single-minded focus that eventually lead him to be poet laureate and compose great poetic works. I smuggled it away last week to try out some tests and put it with HG's research back at the B &B.

"The pocket watch, well, Artie didn't tell me which famous dead guy owned it, but it turns back time to exactly one hour from when it's wound. Helena told me about it ages ago, but said they never knew where it was. The biggest reason for all this research was to see if she could use something to outstrip her time machine. To truly reset time."

"But, one hour. That's not enough time to..." Myka protested, "It's been longer than that."

"Which is why I used some of HG's old-timey trinkets to build out the mechanism that winds the watch in the back. With my modifications, one complete run of the hands on this clock should last somewhere around three hours. The monocle is there to make sure that the watch stays focused on it's own turning, so to speak. To act as a sort of insurance so the watch won't reject my modifications."

The three agents were almost in shock. Here was a real chance to bring the warehouse out of this wasteland and breathe life back into it, into Mrs. Frederic, into Helena. It was difficult to wrap one's mind around this prospect.

"Is that they longest you can give us, three hours?" Myka crossed over to Claudia and wrapped an arm around her. "What about Steve? We can try for more time, try to go back far enough to save him."

"No." Claudia's body went rigid, the green eyed agent felt her stiffen, rejecting the comfort she attempted to provide. "I've pushed it as far as I'm willing to risk, and Steve…" She went glass-eyed and her breath hitched in her throat, "he'll have options once we get the warehouse back."

Artie knew this was not the time or place to lecture on the downside of drawing people back from behind death's curtain, so he held his tongue and placed a hand on Claudia's shoulder, trying, instead, to express sympathy. She shook it off, remembering her bitterness at her friend's death as it pushed through her hope, tingeing it with sadness.

"Let's do this." She said stoically.

Artie drew them all together again, "Think about where you were three hours ago. Think about what needs to be done," and they started concocting a plan, several plans, in fact. They had the benefit of knowing what they were walking into and, so, had a backup for each backup. Syke's couldn't know they knew his scheme, while they worked furiously to undo it. None of the agents knew that while concocting their endgame, each of them was also creating an underlying plan to serve their own personal needs. Claudia would ensure Leena's safety and guarantee she had Johann Maelzel's metronome for Steve, regardless of the consequences. Pete would send his mother from the warehouse as soon as humanly possible. And Myka? Myka was going to make sure that no one had to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. And the best way to do so was to kill Walter Sykes as soon as the first opportunity presented itself.

"Ready?" Pete's voice rang after their brief pow-wow. Claudia was to keep hold of and wind the watch while they all brushed their fingertips lightly around the edges of the artifact; a good luck charm.

"See you in the Regent Sanctum." Myka smiled at Pete. He broke into a grin and nodded.

"See you on the other side."

She locked eyes with Pete's, his smile creasing their corners, and could hear the winding of the watch. Blinding white light filled her field of vision and a horrible pulling sensation radiated out from the center of her chest. Here goes everything, she though as she was thrown, violently, into the past.


	3. History Repeating

Myka felt as if she was being tugged through a wormhole by a tether around her ribcage. She could see nothing but blinding light, invading her vision from all sides. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the sensation subsided and Myka slammed into her own body with such force that it threw her against the wall of the Regent sanctum, knocking the wind out of her.

"Pete," she choked out, as soon as she could manage.

"Hey partner, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a time like this?"

Myka almost laughed, but caught herself upon hearing the voices of three people arguing just around the corner. She motioned for Pete to be silent. Just as they turned to catch a glimpse of the current course of events, there came the sound of clanking metal. Myka knew that sound and winced at the inevitable conclusion of the turning gears. There was a sickeningly wet shiiiick sound as the blade from the chess key dropped, slicing through the air and the first hapless victim of their journey to the past.

This was an unfortunate price to pay, this senseless sacrifice. Myka knew that even though Tyler's death was not technically at Helena's hand, the Brit would add him to her personal body count to agonize over during the bouts of guilt that plagued her. His death was unavoidable at this point, and Myka could not dwell on the lives they couldn't save.

It was all part of the plan.

Artie had stated that while the watch would send them back, it would only make allowances for small changes. If they altered the course of events too much, their previous timeline would interfere and drive them each into their own personal spiral of madness trying to reconcile the actual events of these few restless hours. The inevitable downside. They had orchestrated their concurrent plans, making allowances for what could and could not afford to stay the same, the necessary changes would be made. They all agreed that though the warehouse and Helena had been lost those were two major changes they had each agreed to enact, downside be damned. They were, otherwise, to follow the same path, have the same dialogue and reach the same end until the time for change was necessary. With the exception of Artie, whose sole worry was over the warehouse and the lives of his agents, each of their small brigade had made a secret pact with him or herself to deviate in whatever way possible to achieve their own goals while keeping to the main plan. She mulled over her own course of actions for a moment, but was ripped from her reverie by a voice that involuntarily caused her heart rate to elevate.

"First show's over, Lattimer and Bering, come on down!" Walter Syke's voice reverberated off the chamber walls and Myka's blood began to boil. Pete shot her a look expressing empathy and begged her to focus on their task at hand.

They turned the corner in tandem, guns blazing. They walked through the motions of the previous hours, setting their guns on the floor where Myka knew they would retrieve them later. She kicked her service weapon to the side and heard it skid across the dirt to tap silently against the sanctum wall.

Myka's breath had caught momentarily and she was careful to control the tempo of her heart upon seeing Helena again. She almost had to numb herself as she dodged that initial bullet. She could see the power of Sykes threats against her reflect in the dilated widening of the raven-haired woman's dark eyes.

They played along, so familiar, trying not to tip their hands and alert Sykes that they knew what was coming. He thought himself so clever; Myka almost had to grin at the fate she knew would befall him. She almost felt sorry for him. That is, until Helena grabbed her by the hair and, holding a gun to her head, thrust her into the cold, stone throne seated before the chessboard at Sykes command. She could feel the heat of Helena's fear radiate from her as she held Myka before stepping away, unwillingly pushing a gun to her temple. Sykes had pushed Helena to extremes by placing Myka's life and death in her hands.

Myka had played this scene before, but this time, when she felt the sting of tears, it was not for fear of death, but rather in the realization that she could, indeed, save this woman; this beautiful woman, displaced in time. Myka, could save her from her guilt, from herself, and from a death not yet necessary.

She coaxed Helena onward as she faltered through the first and second moves across the chessboard. Her words were strong and forceful, capturing Helena's eyes and attempting to convey all the emotion she felt with words that would reassure her that not only would Myka survive, but that her survival would signal Helena's triumph over guilt and this ever-mounting pressure.

"...take a breath... and save my life." Myka saw Helena nod almost imperceptibly, and watched the older woman slip into a memory that would lead her to the solution she sought. It was a look Myka had come to recognize over the course of the last two years, one often accompanied by confessions, heartache and, ultimately, comfort. Myka, too, took a breath and allowed herself to think back on earlier times, better times, she's shared with Helena...

Months earlier:

"Myka, this is a terrible idea," Pete followed Myka as she walked up the stairs of the Bed and Breakfast. "Sure, she may have saved our tails the last time she was here, but, Myka," Pete caught her by the arm and she looked down into his eyes, pleading with her to reconsider. "Don't let her in. She took you away, Myka. Away from the warehouse, your happiest place; away from us. Don't let her in." Pete pointed to his chest, over his heart to emphasize his point.

Myka nodded. She understood his apprehension. "Pete, I asked Mrs. Frederic for this time and she wouldn't have said yes if she didn't think I could handle it." Myka paused and shifted the black sphere from one hand to the other, still in Pete's grasp. She motioned to it and continued, "I want to help HG, Pete. I want her to be able to help us in the future and she can't if she stays broken and tucked away in some limbo state, alone." Pete pursed his lips, "And I want some answers." She stepped down, closer to him, letting the sincerity she felt, the love for Pete, the warehouse and the others seep and saturate into her words. "You don't have to worry, I know where I belong. No one can take me away from here; away from my family. When I left, it was my decision. It was the wrong choice." She covered his hand with her own trying to comfort him, "and it will never happen again."

Pete opened his mouth to protest once more, but thought better of it. He nodded to Myka and she turned to continue up the stairs.

"Be careful Mykes."

She turned back to look at Pete; he looked so small, standing there with hurt in his eyes. "I will. I promise." My walked down the hall and with one last lingering look at Pete, she turned the handle and pushed open the door to her room.

Myka curled herself into the worn upholstered chair in the corner between her desk and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. Since moving into Leena's, she'd managed to occupy every corner of her room with books. The walls were covered and the perimeter of the room was row after row, shelf after shelf of books, making small gaps to allow for her bed, dresser, desk, door, window. It was a Morse code of literature lining her walls. There was nothing in the world that made her feel more at home, put her more at ease. Which is why she chose her own room, rather than the neutral warehouse for whatever catharsis or confrontation awaited her inside the polished black orb resting on her bed.

She leaned toward the bed and grasped the top of the sphere. Lift, rotate, release. Light filled the room and the blue shimmer of Helena's form materializing danced before her eyes. The Victorian agent held her hands clasped and left a smile creep across her face as she took in the view of Myka and her surroundings.

"Myka," Helena breathed the woman's name as a sigh, "I had hoped it would be you."

Myka shifted in the chair, unfolding her legs one at a time, like a doe preparing to stand. "Helena. We need to talk."


	4. This is Why We Fight

Helena tensed, as much as she could, given her current holographic state, at the serious tone of Myka's voice. "Alright, talk about what. As you can see, I've nothing but time."

Myka could hear the sigh in her voice as it lilted, poorly masking her disappointment. She shifted in her chair. She had constructed a mental list of the questions she wanted to ask, the discussions that should have been had and all the things she needed to tell Helena. Having been given the opportunity actually to do so, however, was slowly chipping away at her resolve. She took in the sight of holographic Helena and could almost feel her presence, smell her perfume. Myka imagined the sensation of reaching out to feel the warmth radiating from Helena's body, and felt an almost physical pain knowing these things were only the wild fabrications of her starved mind. She ached for Helena and this projection, while fulfilling her need to speak and be spoken to, did little else in terms of quelling her desires.

"I…" Myka stammered, "I don't really know where to start."

Helena slackened her shoulders and strode to sit on the bed opposite Myka. Myka almost expected the bed to sink slightly under Helena's weight, to hear the creak of springs or see a wrinkle in the duvet, but there was nothing. Neither did Helena pass through the solid structure. Myka cocked her head to the side, puzzling out the ramifications of Helena's change in posture.

"It's a manifestation of how I see myself, this. You see what I see in my mind's eye" Helena supplied, answering Myka's unspoken question, motioning to herself. "I can change my position; I can change my appearance. It all has to do with how my consciousness perceives itself." Myka nodded slowly. "The mind usually reverts to whatever is most comfortable: familiar. What is most safe and remembered. I imagine myself as I was before all this rubbish, and in this moment I believe myself to be sitting on your bed, therefore I am. Though," she paused, "In truth, I am neither sitting, nor am I actually here."

"Cogito ego sum." Myka quipped.

"Exactly."

Both women laughed and, for the briefest of moments, everything seemed right and easy. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the moment passed and uneasiness settled in again. And all that needed to be said and heard rose, again to the surface of Myka's consciousness.

Their eventual conversation was heated to say the very least. Myka had shifted from chair to bed, from bed to pacing the floor. Helena was certain that, had she corporeal form, she'd surely be dizzy from dancing around Myka while providing answers and explanations as best she could. It pained her greatly that due to her current state, she could not stop Myka's pacing, could not give a gentle touch of reassurance. She had doomed herself to a life of no physical contact, no comfort, no peace. And it was in this time with Myka that she felt the greatest need for such creature comforts.

She hadn't expected anything less. Well, not really. Helena had, of course, held on to a fool's hope that everything would be easily explained and forgiven and that she and Myka could continue down their previous path. This idea was, however, sheer folly and she dismissed as soon as it had crossed her mind, chastising herself for even entertaining so foolish a notion. She owed Myka so much more than an apology or explanation. She only hoped that her confessions and prostrations would be sufficient.

She was sincere and repentant as Myka battered her with question after question. It soon became clear to Helena that while Myka was overly accusatory, she wasn't truly angry. She was instead given the distinct impression that she and Myka were tangled up in a lover's quarrel of sorts. It was clear that Myka felt betrayed, she was snappish and her eyes creased with unspoken sorrow. And Helena knew the only remedy, the only balm to the pain she had caused, was truth. But these obstacles were not insurmountable and stemmed from trust and even, possibly, love rather than hatred and detachment.

Myka, for her part, was hurt and confused. Resentment at Helena's ultimate betrayal saturated her speech as she paced back and forth, like a woman on fire. The younger woman rarely found herself at the mercy of her emotions and, as a result, her nerves were raw to fraying. This is not to say that she was not a passionate woman, prone to bouts of intense empathy & elation, fear, sadness, love. She was merely unaccustomed to the savagery with which they currently overcame her.

Helena. It all came back to Helena. She cast her gaze on the projected image before her, knowing it was nothing more than fragments of light, bent and refracted around the shape of a woman that could really be any woman.

But it wasn't any woman.

It was Helena Wells, whose mere presence set Myka's soul alight even in the midst of all her anger. Helena, whose smug smile struck a chord in Myka that radiated from the center of her chest to her outermost extremities. Myka was furious, she was livid. And despite this, her heart beat against her ribcage like a captive bird and a sense of well-being flooded her senses when she heard the soft throaty lilt of the woman before her.

No.

Myka steeled her resolve. She could not let herself be distracted from the answers she was due. Helena had left her; lied to her. Betrayed her. The time traveler had held these terrible plans so closely guarded, even in light of their growing friendship. She was certain she had found a kindred spirit in Helena, but certainty was a luxury Myka could no longer afford. They had, previously, spent so many sleepless nights trading confidences, laughter, furtive glances and reassuring touches; all so seemingly empty, now.

They were rather alike, Helena had been right about that. Both were headstrong, intelligent, inventive, observant women who excelled in a field where they were often underestimated. In the dim hours of South Dakota dawn, one might find the two women holed up in the library discovering the varying shades and hues of their kinship to one another.

To say they "clicked" was a gross understatement and they both knew it. And while Helena enjoyed making provocative comments to illicit a blush from her friend and Myka graced her with more than a few knowing looks, neither woman wanted to risk jeopardizing their friendship by pursuing fleeting shadows of something more. Myka supposed the whole thing was moot, at this point anyhow, but that didn't seem to affect the way her body still reacted to the British woman across from her.

But still, the hours dragged on and their time was filled with endless questions and pleading answers until Myka's body started nagging, belying the exhaustion that was creeping over her. She was starting to feel the weight of so much talking, so many questions and far too much information. Helena had confessed to confusion and troubling darkness, but there, peppered in throughout the pain and regret, was the faintest trace of hope. Helena's contrition was sincere and absolute, the central focus of which was her realization that though she had suffered greatly in the past, it was her connection to the future that was worth pursuing, something worth building upon. She had been all too hasty to tear it down, and not willing to work, to see its potential.

She, through her rage and selfish victimization, could not see the intricate web connecting her to everyone around her, cradling her in a warm embrace. She had ties to the present that she had simply refused to see. To Pete, to Claudia, Leena and even Artie, despite the fact that his distain for her was essentially unwavering. To Myka. She could not, it seems, see the forest for the trees. These people with whom she had worked and lived, were fighting against all that she hated and hoped to destroy in her moment of mania. They were the hope that she could not see with her self-contrived blinders.

She had also, in her time of confinement, come to realize that her attempt to rid the world of the parasitic human race was borne not out of righteousness, but cowardice. To start over, to scrap this world, this present and start over would fly in the face of everything her friends, her co-workers, Myka stood for. To stand and fight, to combat the evil at work everyday, that was the true heroic course of action, the righteous choice.

To watch the world change for the better and knowing she had a hand in that change, that was the real challenge. Even in her request to be bronzed, she had taken the easy way, hoping to wake to a better world after playing no part in the shaping of it and having the audacity to be outraged. But there were no shortcuts. Myka had helped her to realize the complete madness in her plan, but it was this time, this distance, that allowed her to come to a more constructive solution and assuage some of her anger, her fear. She was a long way from full rehabilitation in any true sense of the word, but the work she was doing was real and she had hopes for the future, however small or unrealistic they might be.

Myka sighed and her shoulders slumped, her eyes, suddenly, felt heavy. She could see Helena's guilt ripple through her, almost literally. She couldn't deny her own desire to take everything Helena was saying as truth, even though past experiences begged her to be wary, but at this moment all she felt was tired. She also wished that all of this exposition could be behind them, and that they could simply be friends as they once were, to pick up where they had left off. This, more so than anything else, swayed her resolve.

"Helena," The raven-haired hologram merely blinked, expectantly, showing no sign of fatigue, "I can't tell you how much it means to me, hearing you talk so openly, honesty. I think I might actually believe you, believe in what you're saying. I think you really may mean it."

"I do, Myka I-"

Myka held up her hand to stop Helena, mid-sentence. Through the window, just over Helena's right shoulder, she could see the stars scattering across the South Dakota sky; they'd been at this for quite some time and Myka was drained. " I want to believe you, HG." Helena almost flinched at hearing Myka call her by her initials. It almost sounded clinical. "And we'll have more time to talk, more time to explore this. I want to help you find your truth the way you helped me back to mine." She paused, as another wave of exhaustion crashed over her. "I just don't think I can keep up much longer tonight and I don't want to do you the disservice of giving you anything less than my full attention."

Helena almost smirked and Myka's heart fluttered ever so slightly in her chest.

"I'm sorry Myka, I don't," there was that smug smile, "I don't sleep, or feel fatigue, I'm sorry I neglected to take your needs into account. The hour is quite late I'm afraid."

"Too late for Mrs. F, I'd wager. Would you mind staying here, with me, until the morning?" Helena's brow quirked up at Myka's suggestion, she wasn't quite sure what the younger woman was asking. "I won't make you go back into that thing" she motioned to the black orb on the bed, "Not if you don't want to."

Helena nodded slowly, "I think that would be fine. Myka, I-" Helena stopped herself, then spoke, quickly, "I have no right to say this and you can send me away if you'd like. I'd bear no ill will, I just," she exhaled a quick breath as if needing it to push the words from her lips, "I miss you. Terribly. I feel no pain, it's true, but I cannot help but feel this ache when I see you. I miss... us. And I would very much like to stay here with you until Mrs. Fredrick comes to collect me in the morning."

Myka stepped toward her and lifted her hand to brush a stray hair from Helena's cheek, remembering suddenly that Helena wasn't truly there. That, if she reached to stroke the side of Helena's face, she would feel nothing but the faint static that accompanied passing through the projected image. She stilled her hand and watched as sorrow washed across Helena's features, her hopes of feeling Myka's caress dashed by circumstance.

The time traveler attempted to make light of the situation, "Just another consequence of my carelessness, I suppose. This really is the best kind of torture; it makes a girl want to be good"

Myka gave her a sad smile.

"Pete seems to enjoy it." She almost giggled and Helena joined in the good humor.

"If he throws one more pencil through my head shouting point values, I'm going to," Helena started the threat in jest, "well, I suppose I'll simply let him. Not much I can do about it, now, is there?"

"It's all part of the punishment package, Wells." Myka nodded, greeting her with a smile that, Helena noted, reached all the way to her eyes as they sparkled mischievously. They fell into easy conversation for the first time since before Helena's rash act drew them apart and before long, Myka had completed her evening rituals and was drawing back the covers.

She slid in and watched as Helena lay down next to her on the bed, once again leaving no trace of her actual presence there. The light had dimmed and its only source now emanated from the faint glow emitted by Helena herself.

"Are you going to be able to sleep with," she motioned to herself, "this on?"

Myka smiled, "I think I'll manage."

Helena watched, fascinated, as sleep overtook the woman opposite her on the bed. Myka's eyelids fluttered as she drifted away. "Helena…" the woman's name fell from her mouth in a sleep-addled haze. "I missed you too."

Helena imagined that, had she form, her heart would have leapt in her chest. As things stood now, her ache that she somehow felt for Myka subsided and she was cradled in the warmth of well-being. Helena felt that this was the closest she would come to feeling at peace and relished it. "Sweet dreams darling." She said as Myka, her Myka, fell into a deep slumber. She ran her hand along the drowsy woman's jaw line, pretending to feel the warmth of her skin beneath transparent fingers.

Myka let escape the smallest sigh of pleasure. "Helena, I knew you'd come back to me."

"Myka?" Helena asked, she knew what she'd just heard, but wasn't sure what it meant. "Myka, darling, are you awake?"

Myka shifted closer to Helena and her hand passed through Helena's own, resting on the comforter. "I've loved you for so long. I knew you'd find your way back."

Helena didn't know what to do, how to react. She was elated; Myka expressed her love. But Myka was also about 20,000 leagues under the sea, asleep. She had no idea what to make of it, so she simply lay there, watching the shadows grow and shrink with the passing hours. She watched Myka's chest rise and fall, watched the faint smile dance on her lips as she slumbered peacefully until Mrs. Frederic creaked open the door to Myka's room in the early hours of the morning. Helena watched as she crossed to Myka's bed picked up the sphere and motioned for Helena to follow her into the hall.

"Ms. Wells, I hope you had an enlightening evening with Agent Bering. I will now echo Arthur's previous sentiments regarding your time with us here. These visits are to serve the purpose dictated by Agent Bering. As soon as you prove to be of no more value to either Myka or the warehouse, your visitations will cease and you will be confined indefinitely. Do I make myself clear?"

"Absolutely, Mrs. Frederic. I have not earned the trust I so badly desire, but I shall toil tirelessly to do so. I will be a boon to both Agent Bering and the warehouse as long as both shall have me. I shan't give you my word, as I'm, sure that carries little merit based on my past transgressions. Just know that I choose to dedicate myself to Myka." She paused, "And the warehouse," she added hastily.

"It seems we have reached an accord. May this and future visits serve to be mutually beneficial." With that Helena watched for an instant as the orb was lifted, shifted and dropped and she faded into oblivion with hope in her heart.

* * *

 

"Change the rules!" Myka was snapped out of the recesses of one memory and found herself reliving another. She registered the words Helena was speaking and pushed the pawn, just as she had done before.

"Checkmate"

The gears above-head started to grind and shift and Pete made an obligatory comment about something opening. Myka trembled with anticipation as the clamp around her throat opened and she caught the eye of the woman who had just run rampant though her mind. She would not let her go, not this time.


	5. Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment

Claudia's feet slapped hard against the floor of the B&B and she mentally berated herself, quieting her footfalls so as not to alert anyone to her presence. She skidded across the entryway, rallying to pull her way up the stairs. The redhead knew that Leena was now down in the sitting room, sparring verbally with Marcus Diamond and that her time was limited. She burst through the door of her bedroom, thankful she had WD-40'd the hinges last week, and dove under the bed, but not before dumping the large wooden box onto the comforter. She had nicked the box from the dining room table while Marcus had been restraining an unconscious Leena.

Poor Leena. Claud couldn't imagine what she was thinking about their current goings on. Leena, like the rest of them, had all memories from the past few hours, but had no idea of the plans they had hatched before jumping back in time. Claudia brushed off her anxiety regarding Leena chiding herself for giving into momentary distraction. She needed to get her ass in gear, then it wouldn't matter what had happened because everything would be set right.

Claudia groped under the bed & her fingers closed around a small leather satchel she'd hidden the night before. She withdrew her body from beneath the bed and, opening the satchel, plunged her arm inside.

"Yahtzee!" She cried, impossibly up to her elbow in the inches deep pouch. She pulled out her modded mini Tesla and jammed it into her back pocket. The then opened the wooded box on the bed and removed the still-ticking metronome, placing it gingerly on the covers. She closed the boxed and tossed it into the pouch, watching it hover for a moment, just over the opening, before shrinking and falling into its depths.

The young agent, in her ever-present need to pursue perfection and gain Artie's approval had picked up his habit of squirreling away useful artifacts to have on hand in case of emergencies. The definitely constituted an emergency. Claudia had come across Perseus' bag months ago and started filling it with artifacts she deemed useful. The pouch itself was proving to be her most useful find to date. Once said to allow Perseus the ability to carry anything, even the head of the slain Medusa, the bag used some complex phenomena of physics to bend space and force perspective, so that anything, regardless of its size or weight, could fit easily and neatly inside. She liked to think of it as her "Mary Poppins carpet bag", though Artie swore that the actual bag used in the movie was in the warehouse. Is in the warehouse? Would be? Claudia could never get her tenses straight when it came to time travel.

She pulled the drawstrings taught and tied the bag to her studded belt. Mrs. F should be waltzing in right about now, which meant that it was her cue to kick some bad guy tail.

She snatched up the metronome and took the stairs two at a time stopping short, just behind the warehouse caretaker. Claudia had called her to the B&B prior to their "time warp" and saw no reason to deviate from their previous plans. She had originally intended to keep up the pretense that this was all happening for the first time, but upon reflection decided that right now was the perfect time to change things up a bit. Claudia was, after all, not one to back down from a challenge.

She watched, tucked safely behind Mrs. Frederic, until Marcus was dangerously close, advancing on the older woman with menace in his eyes. It was at this moment that Claudia decided to enact her first change. She sidestepped Mrs. Frederic, the metronome concealed behind her back, her other hand gripping the drawn Tesla, now mere inches from the chest of the monster who murdered Steve. She narrowed her eyes and fired purposefully. A short, intense blast sent their attacker staggering back slightly and the air hummed with electrical charge.

"You stupid girl," he hissed through clenched teeth as lightening rippled over his skin, "That little toy can't kill me."

Claudia let off another shot, watching as the henchman strained under the pain, veins throbbing.

"Oh, I know." Another blast hit the man squarely in the chest and his knees buckled. Claudia heard the satisfying hollow knock as he sunk to the floor tearing feverishly at his chest in a vain attempt to rip the sparks from his body. "It won't kill you, but it'll sting like a bitch." Another bright lace of white energy shot through the air.

"Like it? This little devil isn't standard issue. No. This baby is aaaaaall Claudia. I didn't know it at the time, but I built it with you in mind."

She fired another shot that brought the man's hands to the floor, bracing his body against inevitable collapse. "Let's just say this phaser's not set on stun.

"I just needed to see you like this. You," she snorted incredulously, "on the floor like a dog. You murderous bastard! You killed my best friend, a good agent, a good human being. I needed to see this before ending you."

Marcus' eyes flashed and darted to the table across the threshold, widening when he took in the absence of the mahogany box. Leena, meanwhile, kept her eyes focused on Claudia. She knew the young woman could be intense and was typically very passionate, but the bright red burning of her aura was something Leena had never witnessed. She was mildly alarmed at the display of violence Claudia was demonstrating. Mrs. Frederic, for her part, simply observed. She had had a similar plan in mind, and didn't mind stepping back, allowing Agent Donovan the opportunity to work out her frustrations over Agent Jinks' death.

"You know?" Claudia raised her gun, eyes trained on Marcus, white knuckled and spasming under the constant shock of current racing through his body. "I thought this would make me feel better," tears gathered in the corners of her eye and pulled dark trails down her cheeks, "but it doesn't. It doesn't change anything. This, however," she produced the metronome, ticking rhythmically, "this has the potential to make a huge difference."

Marcus grunted and attempted to crawl toward the young woman, perhaps in pleading, or simply in a vain attempt to grasp at the tether to his tenuous hold on life. Just as his hand rose, inches from Claudia, she stilled the swaying arm and locked it tightly under the crossbar. The absence of ticking created a palpable silence and all three women watched as Marcus Diamond writhed and finally went down, eyes glazed, skin a sickly gray.

"That was for Steve." She stated with finality. Turning from Mrs. Frederic, now helping Leena from her bonds, Claudia quickly opened her satchel. She pulled the box from its fathomless depths, reunited it with the metronome and quickly deposited it back in the pouch before reaching for her Farnsworth and snapping it open.

"Artie, it's done. We're just waiting on Pete and Myka now."

She listened intently as Artie gave some additional instructions and then closed the Farnsworth. Claudia then joined the warehouse caretaker and together they managed to release Leena, Claudia quickly cutting her bonds with a pocketknife she kept handy. She was nothing if not prepared.

Leena eyed Claudia warily as she massaged the bruises already starting to color her wrists. Her Aura had calmed considerably, but it was still decidedly angry and wild.

"Claudia, I don't understand. How are we here?"

"Reader's digest version? Artie had a pocket watch that I pimped out to take us back to the future. Not that far back, but back. We can't deviate too much from what already happened or we'll go crazy trying to put it all back together, but we can make little changes, and we can save the warehouse."

"I remember everything." Leena sounded mildly panicked. "I though we were in some sort of loop, living this terrible day over and over and over. Then you… you with Marcus. I knew something else was happening."

"Groundhog day from hell." Claudia quipped.

"Just a moment, Agent Donovan. Now I am confused. How is it that both of you have retained your memories of events past, as you're reliving them now, and I have not? Unless..." she trailed off and both younger women stared at their shoes, unable to meet her gaze. "I see. I wasn't able to travel back. The warehouse was destroyed, which means that I..." she trailed off once more. Leena stepped closer and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Irene covered it with her own, forcing a sad smile. She straightened the cuffs of her jacket and shook her head curtly.

"No matter, you two have the distinct advantage, having the ability to learn from our previous mistakes. I assume you know Sykes' endgame?" Mrs. Frederic looked over her spectacles and Claudia nodded emphatically.

"Step one: the man wants legs, bionic legs. Artifact legs." Claudia started ticking off on her fingers.

"The Collodi bracelet, we figured as much."

"Two: no more warehouse. The guy has a wicked bad artifact strapped in with him that will pretty much level the place unless we do our thing. Now, I know the plan, but," Claudia gripped the pouch swinging at her hip, "I have conditions, well one condition. And it's non-negotiable."

Claudia stared into the eyes of the intimidating, bespectacled woman before her. She gulped, sub-consciously, but didn't waiver. She stood her ground; she would not be bullied into giving up Steve's one chance at life.

"Go on," came the stoic response.

"The metronome stays with me. It's for Steve. I already know what you're going to say and you can save it. I know the rules, and I know we bend them all the time when it suits our needs, or its in the best interest of the warehouse. Steve, alive and fighting to protect the warehouse, is most def in its best interest. He gave his life for the warehouse. It's time the warehouse gave a little of that life back." She took a deep breath, her shoulders dropping under the weight of her previous sentiments. "That's my condition. Take it or leave it. But believe that you need me. The warehouse needs me. And I need Steve."

There was a long moment of silence during which the air took on a decidedly charged quality, saturated with the tension of Claudia's demands.

"Well, Agent Donovan," the older woman broke the silence, "seeing as you leave me no choice, you may keep the metronome. I do, however, reserve the right to revisit the issue once this whole nonsense is behind us and before any rash action is undertaken."

"Fine. Now, let's do this like Buddhists." She smiled at the reference and shifted her weight to slide into the dining room chair. She pulled her laptop from under the table where it had been charging lazily and cracked it open.

"Artie and I thought that since they couldn't neutralize the artifact attached to the bomb last time, we might find something in the warehouse that could cushion or smother the explosion. This is just one part of the larger plan that will go into play once Sykes' rolls in and the rest of the gang find their way into the warehouse. I thought you might be of some help in this department, Mrs. F, since you're like encyclopedia warehousica up there." She gestured to the caretaker's head and they all gathered around the laptop scanning the artifact database for something, anything that might help.


	6. Kiss with a Fist

Artie was busying himself in the office, gathering various odds and ends, sifting through piles and unceremoniously jamming artifacts into his coat pockets. The barometer from the USS Eldridge confiscated in Colorado, the jacks repossessed from Russia, twine, darts, anything that might do in a pinch found their way into his hands.

After a rude shove back in time, Artie found himself here in the warehouse, everything as it had been, save their newfound appreciation for the predicament into which they had been thrown. Artie turned to his companions and shook off his disbelief, "It worked!" he cried, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Jane greeted him with a bewildered shrug and Claudia snorted incredulously.

"Of course it worked, don't sound so surprised, oh Ye of Little Faith." She softened her tone a bit and elbowed him in the ribs, "I did, after all, learn from the best."

Claudia then wasted no time rooting around the computer system before slipping out of the office to attend to Leena, Marcus and Mrs. Frederic. Jane opened and closed her mouth as if she wished to speak, but couldn't find the words. Artie almost laughed. She hadn't been privy to their plan, but simply found herself pulled through the rift along with the rest of them. Artie wondered the extent of the time shift and its reaches beyond their current situation, but swiftly brushed off this concern.

Consequences be damned, he had lives to save.

Artie had slid into his seat at the monitor as soon as Claudia had gone and started sifting through the considerable inventory, searching for anything that might help them avoid walking the same path to destruction. He held himself responsible for the fate of the warehouse and at this point, was determined not to make the same mistake twice.

Now, Artie knew that he may not be considered a "man of action" so to speak, but when it came to sharp minds and quick thinking, he thought he had cornered the market. It was more than just a minor blow to his ego that he failed to concoct some sort of solution and, as a result, unnecessary sacrifices were made. It was not as if he'd never been in life threatening situations, and he always seemed to get by without loss of life or limb. Why is it that when it mattered most, when they were faced with this new threat, this peril, that he froze? It was true that a great deal of his thought processing capacity was occupied by panic – it ate his bandwidth, as Claudia might say – but even that was no excuse. He sighed and continued to work.

He knew he was, perhaps, being too hard on himself, but he decided to push that to the back of his mind and use his indignation and disappointment to fuel the fight to correct past wrongs.

Artie searched the database, scrolling like a madman through the artifact manifest, eyes flickering, as he tried to absorb all of the information flying across the screen. Artie was not, generally, prone to hubris, but if there was one thing that Artie knew better than anything, it was artifact history and inventory. He was, simply, the best. Claudia came in a close second, mainly because her numerous infractions had her performing tedious hours of cataloging, which resulted in a fairly substantial knowledgebase. But still, she lacked the years of experience and the passion that Artie had been cultivating for decades.

He had, since starting that search, gathered several artifacts he deemed useful and relocated them to the ovoid quarantine to be used when the situation dictated. The plan was to stop Sykes before his bomb could commence countdown, but now, at least, if they were unsuccessful – thanks to the clarity that often accompanied hindsight – they had options. The trick was to gather the artifacts and tuck them away inconspicuously, as there were others involved in this plan who needed to remain unaware should they hope to avoid the same fate. Artie would hate for his preparedness to tip his hand and, potentially, lead to the undoing of the warehouse a second time.

Scattered around the sector and surrounding shelves were a motley crew of artifacts Artie felt might fit the bill. Among them was the bucket that helped quench the flames of the great Chicago fire, supposedly ignited by a cow belonging to one Mrs. O'Leary, a fire hose recovered from ground zero, a smother blanket that had protected children of two generations from the air raids that plagued England during wartime and more current history.

He had also collected Mary Poppins' carpetbag, hoping it's almost limitless depths would swallow the detonation completely. He had originally wanted to use Perseus' pouch, but found it mysteriously absent from the shelves. Artie would have, under normal circumstances, added that to the growing list of Claudia's infractions, but as it stood, he was inclined to let it slide, choosing, instead, to exercise leniency.

Back in the present – past? Past-present? He hated tenses when it came to time travel – Artie checked his pockets and along with Jane, and did a final artifact check before heading to the portal through which Walter Sykes would roll in a matter of seconds.

They made their way over just as the solid wall began to flicker and spark.

"You ready for this?" Jane asked, eyes narrowing as she tried to made out the image of her son behind the barrier.

"Oh yeah." Artie raised a determined eyebrow and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows readying himself for "phase two."

* * *

It had happened again, just as before. The struggle. The fall. Then Sykes forced Pete through the barrier – guns blazing – following closely behind, leaving Myka and HG stunned and slumped on the floor of the Regent Sanctum.

Myka pushed herself up to sit on the dirt floor. She remembered this: the splitting headache that accompanied being Tesla'd by Pete. Again. She sighed and turned to the still inanimate body of one HG Wells and watched her for a moment; the slight part of her lips, the rise and fall of her chest. Myka fidgeted. She knew it was best to remain detached, to continue with the plan. Myka liked plans. But watching Helena, lying there with the blush of life in her cheeks and soft heat radiating from her body made Myka want to deviate. To chuck the whole thing, really.

But she couldn't... could she?

Myka had already decided on a few necessary changes, based on her own desire for retribution, but she was hesitant to allow more. She tried to convince herself that, if they were successful,  _when_  they were successful, she and Helena would have the time together she so desperately craved, but it was no use. Living, breathing, solid Helena broke down the last vestiges of Myka's resolve and she reached out a shaking hand to stroke the woman's hair. Helena stirred, rousing under Myka's observation, and she stilled her hand, withdrawing it, denying herself the contact she so hungered for.

Helena gingerly pushed herself to her elbows and eyed the younger agent, who, at the moment, looked guilty and sad.

"Well, this is a fine predicament." She huffed, "though, I suppose if I'm to be trapped here, in this vault on the other side of the world, at least I'm in excellent company."

Myka blushed and allowed a smile to creep across her lips. She'd heard this before, and the flirtations had the same impact they had previously. Helena treated her to a coy grin as she rose to her feet. Myka surveyed her surroundings and did a little inventory, taking a moment to gather the firearms that had been scattered across the room.

As they collected themselves, the two women eyed each other hesitantly. They danced in circles, careful no to breach the other's personal boundary, careful not to touch or be touched. After a moment or so of this, Myka sighed; she was tired, and didn't want to do this again.

"Helena," She let the woman's name spill haphazardly from her lips as if she had no choice but to do so. Her heart ached and refused to remain silent a second time, as such desperate longings went, again, unsaid. It wasn't often one was given the opportunity to relive past actions, or inactions, and Myka had some serious regrets from their last encounter. She had wrongs to set right. She knew this wasn't, or shouldn't be, her primary objective – that there were more important things at stake. But here, in this moment, she could thing of only one.

She watched Helena straighten and toss her hair over one shoulder. The British woman had started collecting chess pieces and setting them back in place on the board. She was currently running her fingers over the curved ridge of a pawn, treating the younger agent to an expectant stare.

Myka took a few tentative toward the object of her conflicted longing. Then, plumbing the depths of her heart for all the confidence she could muster, she closed the distance between them. She raised a cautious hand slowly, bringing it a mere breath away from Helena's cheek. Helena's dark eyes fluttered closed and she inhaled deeply, almost trembling in anticipation.

And then, silence.

Every sound, every sight, scent, even the passage of time itself was stilled to accommodate the rush of ecstatic color and sensation that overwhelmed them both as Myka brushed delicate fingertips down the curve of Helena's jaw line. It was as if Myka had never experienced the pressure of touch against her skin until this moment. Her heart jumped and she could hear Helena sigh, could feel her fall into the caress. Helena had been waiting so long to feel this caress and the weight of her longing overwhelmed her.

She turned into the touch and lightly covered Myka's hand with her own. She took the green-eyed woman's hand from her cheek and immediately felt the coolness of its absence. She brushed her lips lightly against Myka's palm, kissing her ever so softly. Her lips trailed up and found the soft underside of the younger woman's wrist. Helena crept slowly up her arm, placing kisses that lit small fires on Myka's skin as she found herself being drawn closer and closer.

Myka could feel the pressure build within her; it was almost palpable. Helena pulled her closer still and pressed into her with impossible nearness. Myka's eyes slammed shut as a wave of desire crashed over her. She expected to find relief in the pressure of Helena's lips on her own, but instead found herself enveloped in a tight embrace. Raven hair spilled over her shoulder as she cradled Helena against her collarbone, delighting at the weight of her body and the soft breath, hot on her neck. She marveled at the turn of events that lead to this moment, the evil, the effort, the loss and gain that drew Helena from her holographic state and gave her form. Myka kissed the top of Helena's head. She regretted the cost of this moment, but would not waste the gift she had been given by spoiling it with regret.

Myka threaded her fingers through dark locks and brought her green eyes level with the black coal depths of Helena's, now glossy with unshed tears. She leaned in close, almost making contact, when she felt a whisper against her lips.

"Myka, I'm sorry."

Myka drew back to rest her forehead against Helena's. They'd changed the tone, the character of this interchange, but still the words came. Some things really were set in stone, but that didn't mean that Myka couldn't speed things up a bit.

"I wish you would stop doing that," Her tone was gentler this time, but the meaning still carried the weight of their previous discussion. Myka didn't wait for Helena to claim responsibility for the course of events that brought hem here, to lay claim to that guilt.

"Doing what?" Helena pulled away from her, slightly.

"You're not the bad guy alright? I believed in you and I was right." Myka was overcome by rush of adrenaline and, feeling suddenly bold, caught Helena by the nape of her neck and brought their lips crashing together. Myka was all too aware of their time limitations, but refused to let this moment pass her by again. She pulled Helena ecstatically closer, running an exploratory tongue along the other woman's bottom lip before breaking their contact for the briefest of moments. She murmured against Helena's lips, so close, their soft breath comingling.

"I have loved you, Helena Wells, for a long while. I have watched you struggle, fall, and pick yourself up. You, despite your doubts, are a good person."

Helena caught her lips once more and pressed against her with such fervor that Myka stumbled back into the stone chess table. She hated to stop this forward momentum, the break their embrace, and their now tangling tongues, but Myka couldn't push her plans away any further. It was time to act.

"Now," she punctuated her resolve with a final kiss and pushed Helena to sit on the edge of the marble chair. "Get off your cross," Myka held Helena's wrist, and kissing the tips of her fingers, wrapped them around an errant rook, "And help me figure this thing out."

Myka heard a low rumble and clank come from the portal wall.  _That'll be Artie on the other side_.

Helena noticed nothing; she was a mess of emotions and hormones, culminating in a complete sensory overload. She took a moment to catch her breath and ran her fingers through her hair, dragging them from crown to tip. This had more than she expected. It was true that her feelings for Myka were strong and unwavering, but she hadn't expected the young agent to be so forward, so forgiving, especially in light of their current state of turmoil. Helena was completely caught off guard. She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. When she did speak, her voice shook, betraying her flustered nature.

"R-Righty ho then," Helena resumed her earlier task of resetting the chess pieces, "Old times." Myka smiled at the differences she now detected in Helena's voice. The Brit was flush from her recent attention and though the words were the same, the tone was greatly altered.

"Wells and Bering, solving puzzles, saving the day."

Myka snatched up a knight that had rolled from the table and stood to face Helena. She leaned low across the stone table and brushed her lips against those of her love, who sighed into the kiss. She breathed in the feeling of this moment, this shared contact, before abruptly pulling away.

"Its Bering and Wells." With that, Myka braced her hand against Helena's sternum, pushing her roughly against the throne back. The startled woman's eyes flew wide as the wind was knocked out of her with a soft thud. She heard the ratchet and clank of the lock spring to life and before she could gather herself, felt the cold metal of the clamp snap shut around her neck. She watched the chess pieces glide eerily into a new position, placing her in check once more. Pleading dark eyes met mischievous green and she could detect the hint of a smile playing at the corners of Myka's mouth. She was, it seemed, trapped in the chess lock with a new game to play.

"Myka?" Her brow knit and she looked to her companion for reassurance as panic slowly set in.


	7. Shoot 'em Down

With one swift motion, Artie lunged for Sykes' riding crop, but this time he was prepared for the blow Pete would be forced to deliver. He ducked the swing, the creak of leather guiding Pete's fist, and snapped open the barometer from to USS Constitution, giving himself 46 seconds to perform his next task. He was almost sorry that the now frozen tableau with Jane, Pete and that madman had not witness his almost-athletic tuck and roll, but shrugged it off as he rose and patted the dust from his jacket.

He quickly made his way to wall and pulled the lever to activate the regent sanctum portal. Helena and Myka had previously broken through after having been left to their own devices, but they wanted an edge this time around, and so Artie gave them a little help on this side. He paused a moment and tried to puzzle out how exactly they had made it through the last time around and decided to ask Myka once this debacle was through.

The ticking of the barometer brought him back to the task at hand and he took a hurried dive, landing on the floor, glasses slightly askew, where he would have ended up had Pete's blow struck him. Second later, the three frozen bodies sprang back to life and Pete started apologizing profusely for striking his friend and superior. Thankfully, they had drawn Sykes far enough into the warehouse and were causing enough commotion that he didn't seem to notice the sparks rippling and arcing across the wall directly behind him. Sykes pressed them further back into the shelves, prattling on and on about his superiority and the wrongs he was setting right and the other three warehouse protectors eyed one another, a slight twinkle of foresight almost masking the fear they all shared. They knew Walter Sykes' fate and would leave that to take it's previous course. It's what happened afterward that made them still wary.

They pressed on and disappeared into the vast warehouse just in time for Myka to come tumbling through the now-gaping portal, followed by a very sour looking HG Wells.

"I understand that we needed to reactivate the portal, but that was completely un-" Helena's words were stifled by a hand clapped, suddenly, over her mouth. The younger agent gave her a warning look as she surveyed their surroundings, making sure Sykes and the rest of them had moved on. HG sighed and rolled her eyes and Myka withdrew her hand, almost giggling at the petulant stare she was receiving from a woman over a century old.

"Fine," Helena hissed in a whisper, "but I still say that was a rotten trick back there. And further more-" Once again, Helena was unable to finish her thought, as she suddenly was all too aware of the pressure of lips on her own. She could feel Myka smile against her mouth and let the tension fall from her limbs as she sank into this wonderful feeling. Confident that she had, for the moment, quelled Helena's protestations, Myka drew away from her, relishing the sight of long eyelashes fluttering over dark coal eyes. Helena took a moment to find her tongue.

"Wha- I," She stammered, shell-shocked. The sensation of Myka, so close, so intimate was something she'd have to get used to if she had any hope of keeping up. Her contact-addled brain slowly lurched back to life and Myka smiled once more as she could almost see the stop and start of Helena's gears. She turned on her heels and started toward the stacks, calling over her shoulder, "Are you coming Wells?"

Helena huffed. She was being teased!

"Myka Bering, we are  _not_  finished with this discussion." She gave chase, following the younger agent at a brisk clip. "And don't think that every time you and I are at odds, you can simply kiss me and I'll lose my senses, swooning like some addlepated twit."

Myka stopped and allowed Helena to catch up to her. She humored the Brit as she continued her rant.

"I was one of the most brilliant minds of my era, and I daresay I haven't seen anything from your time that can lay claim to that, thus far. I built a vehicle to transport a person's consciousness through time and space while men were still trying to build a suitable vehicle to transport them down a city street."

Myka sighed, a smug grin still playing at the corners of her mouth. Helena was pacing now, hissing through her teeth.

"To assume that mental fortitude could be compromised by the base act of pressing ones lips against mine is ludic-" Not for the first, or even the second time in as many moments, Helena lost her words and her argument as Myka captured her mouth. The younger woman threaded her fingers through inky tresses and caressed the nape of Helena's neck, noting the slight shiver that ran through the woman in her arms as she did so. She ran an explorative tongue along Helena's lips and felt her moan lightly into the intimate touch.

Helena wrapped desperate arms around her Myka and held her as if afraid she might turn to air, should her hold slacken. The Brit felt her knees weaken as soft, lithe fingers crept under the hem of her shirt and absently caressed the delicate curve of her back. She couldn't get enough of this feeling, this rush. It was lust, base and primal, though Helena couldn't deny it's presence. It was something deeper, stronger than she'd ever let herself feel. It frightened and excited her and she realized in that one moment, that she would do anything for this woman in her arms. This one person. She loved Myka, and would travel to the ends of the earth, to hell and back to keep her safe.

Myka, for her part was feeling similar pangs of deep and meaningful longing, but being cursed with foresight, she couldn't give in. What had started as a teasing lesson – proving that even the great HG Wells could be undone by a kiss – had turned into a potential last embrace with the woman she loved without reserve. The woman she knew would give her life to save Myka's own.

Myka tore herself away from Helena, tears threatening to surface. She had to keep on track. It was the only way she could keep her love alive; the only way to make sure Helena never had to prove her devotion. She shared a look of longing with a now confused HG Wells and took off, once more, into the warehouse. She had a plan to enact. She picked up pace and set a course for Sykes.

* * *

Helena blinked, once, twice. She was in a fog, to be sure. What had see been saying? She couldn't remember, but she'd been saying it to Myka, who was nowhere to be seen. But then... then she'd been kissing Myka, or Myka had been kissing her... Helena's head felt light and butterflies danced inside as her heart rattled violently against its ribbed cage. She was overcome with emotion and physical contact as she allowed the sensation of Myka to flood all of her senses and overcome her mental faculties, slipping, once more, into the memory of her touch.

"No," She spoke aloud, startling herself. She shook her raven hair, chastising herself. "Focus Helena. She's just a woman, and there are more important things at stake here."

She laughed through that last statement, knowing that there was nothing more important to her now, nor had there been for quite some time. Even if she hadn't been willing to truly admit her complete devotion to this one woman, there was no denying it now. Myka was sun around which she revolved. Helena Wells had an almost boundless ego, but even so, there was one person she held in higher regard. It boggled her mind, the flood of emotions she was feeling. Only once before had she felt such unconditional love for another person: the day her daughter was born.

How could she have know that a century later, after so much chaos and pain, she would find that love again in a new age. She almost lost herself in the haze of overwhelming affection before remembering the loss that had previously accompanied her unyielding devotion to her Christina. Suddenly, it dawned on her that they were currently in the midst of a war. Through her happiness, she had forgotten Sykes and the potentially fatal scenario they were all acting though. A wave of recognition washed over her, pulling her back into the present and this all seemed somehow familiar, though she couldn't place how. Perhaps it was her brain's way of thrusting her back into reality, so that she wouldn't let history repeat itself. She would protect Myka the way she had failed to protect Christina. History would not repeat itself. Of that, she would make certain.

She slowed her heartbeat and drew a great gulp of air into her lungs as she trudged toward the warehouse shelved. She made a serpentine pattern winding her way through the sea of artifacts. She knew Sykes was after the Collodi bracelet and thanks to her unruly ways while an agent under Artie's care, she had done enough inventory to know where to look. She set her course and stopped only when voices floated through the crevices and down the aisles. Sykes, Pete, Arthur, and a woman she recognized from previous Regent encounters were already there, but where was Myka? Helena watched as Sykes accepted the bracelet from a subdued Agent Lattimer and spindly gold strings suspended in mid air, drew him, shaky, from his chair.

Helena glanced, sidelong, down the length of the next row and saw Myka shift and press flush against the shelf, directly across from Sykes' party. She padded softly down the aisle and realized that Myka had drawn, not the Tesla, but her service weapon and was bracing herself for a shot aimed directly at Walter Sykes.

"Myka," she spat the woman's name and pulled on her shoulder. Myka shrugged off the touch and steadied her firearm, "What are you doing? You surely don't intend to kill that man."

Myka refused to break eye contact with her target, now shaking the stiffness from his limbs. Helena's touch, the warmth of her voice, only served to distract her from he task at hand, and she could not afford such distractions. She was doing this for Helena, she didn't know if it would save the warehouse but it was justice. Justice for the lives he had taken, for the woman he had killed.

"Myka, I'm right here," the younger agent paused, did Helena know, could she know what had happened? It was impossible. "Listen to me. You are not a killer."

Myka felt tears well in her eyes, "You don't know what he's done. What he'll do."

Helena placed a comforting hand on Myka's shoulder once more and turned her chin so she could gaze into sad green eyes. "This man has taken many lives, it's true, and he may very well deserve to die, but don't let him manipulate you into robbing another human being of life. If you kill him, he will stay with you forever." She placed a hand on Myka's forearm, drawing it back. "Don't give him that power over you. There are always alternatives to killing. Trust me, Myka. I know you think you want this, but you don't. It won't fix anything. All it will do is turn you into a killer. You, my dear, sweet Myka, are no killer."

Myka trembled and let Helena uncurl her fingers form the grip of the gun. She felt a tear slide down her cheek for the revenge she'd never have and the irony of Helena's life-saving action. Helena, however, knew that the life she was truly saving, was Myka's. Regardless of whether Sykes deserved death for his wrong-doings, she knew that killing him in this manner would ruin Myka and rob her of a piece of her very soul.

She pulled Myka into a tight hug and wrapped a protective arm around her. Setting Myka's service weapon on the shelf, she then reached around the woman in her arms and drew the Tesla from it's holster on Myka's hip. She quickly assessed the scene on the other side of the stacks. Pete had the barrel of his gun tucked under his chin and Sykes was flexing that damned crop. She took steady aim and let loose an arc of electricity that struck the riding crop, effectively rending it useless.

Then, all hell broke loose.


	8. Remember to Breathe

The events that followed flashed before Myka's eyes as if she was gazing through the slats of the slowly turning zoetrope. She saw a flash of Artie fleeing from a pursuant Sykes. She blinked and felt the warmth of Helena's body pressed against her own. She settled into the softly radiating heat, vaguely remembering that they were restrained with the rigging rope. She wanted to linger there, relishing their closeness and the soft tickle of Helena's breath on her cheek, but this, too, passed in an instant. She caught a glimpse of Jane administering a hard uppercut and started to panic.

She couldn't hold onto anything for more than a few seconds. Her observations became punctuated by blinding light and as events progressed she saw less and less of her Warehouse compatriots, until, finally, the whole of her vision was flooded with light. Myka had the distinct impression of falling with no ground in sight. She worried over the complete void of blank all around her and was awash in a whisper of familiarity. This was akin to her journey back to the sanctum in China, but without the gripping sensation in her chest. She was falling through time again.

Myke began to take in deep, anxious breaths and was suddenly aware of several distinct lines forming edges. Walls met in corners, along with angles, tables chairs. She was coming back into focus, but not in the warehouse. No. Myka found herself in the Bed and Breakfast, facing a very hard-at-work HG Wells. Helena was bent low over the dining room table, a thick curtain of hair brushing the papers strewn carelessly over its surface. Myka observed that, Helena, while being of another time and excellent breeding, had terrible posture. She took a step toward the inventor, noticing that her friend's current position was worse than usual.

Myka could feel her feet carrying her forward. This was a memory that had happened in what now seemed like another lifetime and Myka quickly realized that, as Pete would say, this thing was on rails. Myka paused for a moment in quiet contemplation as Helena gave a quiet sigh and ran a hand haphazardly through her long locks.

Myka stretched a tentative hand toward Helena's shoulder and the raven haired Brit startled.

"Oh, goodness! Myka, didn't see you there skulking about."

"Myka heard the words fall from her mouth, "I wasn't skulking. I don't skulk." She almost huffed. "I came in looking for Claudia." Myka noticed that though HG was addressing her, she was still at an awkward hunch. "I can't seem to find her." Myka paused as realization dawned. "But it looks like she found you. Helena, Are you cuffed to the table? I told her to stop that, now I  _really_  need to find Claud." Myka heard her tone, incredulous, to say the least.

"Don't be silly darling, nothing I can't handle." Helena bent awkwardly and Myka heard the ratchet of the cuffs and the dull clatter as they fell to the floor. Helena brought both hands up, straightening completely now. "See? No harm, just a little fun Agent Donovan is having, for which I am grateful."

Myka remembered the period of time when Helena was living at Leena's and Claudia developed a habit for handcuffing her to various inanimate objects simply to see how long it took her to extract herself. It was always funny to be deep in conversation only to find that, somewhere around the middle of your chat, Helena had somehow become attached to the radiator, or exposed piping,, to Claudia herself, a tea kettle – which Helena seemed to rather like – or the steering wheel of Arties car, which was decidedly less fun for the Brit. It wasn't ever really a challenge for Helena to remove the cuffs, but she did delight in making a grand show of it. Myka supposed this was her way of bonding with their youngest agent. These antics were also the direct cause of flexi-cuffs being new standard issue for warehouse agents, rather than the clunky metal bracelets.

Myka glanced toward Helena, still waiving her outstretched hands and inhaled sharply.

"Oh my – Helena, your wrist!" She caught the delicate Victorian wrist that had been tucked beneath to table and noted that if now ringed with a deep purple bruise and some faint red lines. Myka assumed the markings were where the metal edge of the cuff pushed against Helena's skin. Myka ran soft-tipped fingers over the injury, sub-consciously relishing her chance for unsolicited contact.

Helena tried to make light of her injuries, claiming that they looked worse than they actually were. Myka refused to listen to her protestations and threatened to go find Claudia and demand she stop antagonizing Helena.

"Myka Ophelia Bering, you stop right this instant!" Helena snapped after Myka, who had gone to find their young tech wiz. She wondered for the briefest of moments how Helena had learned her middle name. "Turn 'round and come here." Helena motioned for Myka to come toward her.

"Now, I know you care a great deal about my well-being. It's quite flattering actually, but I digress. You will say nothing to Claudia about this," Helena motioned to her wrist, already starting to pale. "This may look like nothing to you, or it may look painful, but I can tell you that it brings me joy. Joy, Myka. Claudia has a mind like no other and this is how we choose to connect. You see it as a childish game, but I assure you, I feel nothing but camaraderie and affection toward young Miss Donovan." Helena brought a tentative hand to the locket around her neck. She brushed over its face and continued.

"This child's game has given way to fantastic discussions and has allowed me to exercise my more competitive nature in a constructive way."

Myka hated to admit that HG was right. Claudia loved their little game of cat and mouse, watching with glee, as Helena would puzzle over the cuffs for a moment and, with a few flicks, watch them clatter to the ground. She sighed. While Myka was unhappy with the state of Helena's injuries, she was reluctant to add any further complaint to her own weighted scale. Instead she turned Helena's wrist over, examining it closely.

"At least let me clean this up a bit," noting a few places where the metal chafing had actually broken the skin and small drops of blood were dotting the creased skin.

"I'm more than happy to allow you that. So long as you say nothing of this to our youngest Agent."

Myka conceded and turned toward the kitchen. She poked around in the cupboard until she'd located the supplies she needed, and gave the facet a sharp twist to dampen the green washcloth in her hand. Satisfied, she turned the water off and gathered up her first aid things. As she exited the kitchen, the sound of two female voices wound their way to her ears. She lingered in the doorway, so as not to interrupt.

"Maybe Myka's right, HG. Maybe I should stop." Claudia hung her head and looked at her hands, awkwardly.

"Claudia, darling, if you heard Myka's concern, you must also have heard my dismissal. I enjoy this little game we play." Claudia tucked a strand of bright green hair behind her ear and smiled crookedly. "Now you know I'm glad to be back here, and that I love each of you. Myka's wit and kindness, Leena's hospitality, Pete's... Erm-"

"Pete-ness," Claudia supplied.

"Yes, exactly, and dear god, even Artie. But they do not have your brain. An inventor's brain, if ever I saw one." Claudia flushed pink to the tips of her ears.

"I don't need to tell you this, because I  _know_  you already know, but you shine more brightly than anyone I've ever met. And there is something inside you. Something I can't name that resonates."

"It's that we're both a little crazy, I think," Claudia laughed, and HG joined in.

"Perhaps." The Brit agreed. "But this is just one part of a much larger whole," she motioned to her wrist. "And I'll not have negligence on my part ruin something I enjoy." She paused, as if considering how to proceed. "Especially when I'm so close to breaking my own record."

"8.24 seconds!" Claudia laughed and they both started chattering about HG's recent attempt to liberate herself from the radiator. Myka chose this moment to re-enter, but not before considering HG's words. It was true that Claudia was brilliant. Everyone knew that. But no one had ever really managed to convey her true value in words like Helena had. They were kindred spirits, HG and Claudia. Helena had reached out Claudia in a way that not even Artie could have.

She crossed to Helena, who gave her a radiant smile and continued chatting with Claudia as Myka wrapped and tended to her wrist. She took this moment as an opportunity to look closely at Helena, now engaged in animated conversation, without fear of reproach or judgment. HG, Helena, was beautiful. She loved everyone Myka cared about most. She was brilliant, inventive, challenging and strong. She and had this way of making just about anyone feel like they were the most important person in the world. She  _was_  truly remarkable.

And all of a sudden, absently wrapping gauze around a delicate pale wrist, barely able to keep still, Myka remembered the significance of this moment. Just as she had in this exact moment over a year ago, the depth of her affection for this one singular woman absolutely overtook her and she knew. It was like falling, hard and fast and sudden. Her breath caught in her throat at the prospect of her revelation.

"Myka, are you alright?" Helena paused and turned to Myka, who only nodded before being treated to yet another brilliant grin. She felt almost compelled to steal the kiss she knew must be lingering on Helena's lips and blushed at the thought of it.

She was perfect. She was ecstatic. She was in love with Helena Wells.

And as startling as this realization was, it was little compared to what was building within her chest. That faint pull, the blinding light. She was slipping out of her memory, out of time and back to the present. This time the sensation wasn't so jarring. She was pulled away from Helena, from her memory of love, to cradle in the nothingness of empty space. Like Alice through the rabbit-hole she drifted slowly back to consciousness until she could feel the subtle pull of gravity on her limbs. All too soon, she was deposited, roughly, back into her body. Into the present. Into the ticking, scrambling, chattering chaos that was a Walter Sykes-occupied warehouse.


	9. Stay Don't Go

Where – no – when was she? Myka tried to orient herself amidst all the chaos of ticking, scrambling and chatter. She spotted Helena, her back to Myka, and touched the purple lenses of the glasses perched on the end of her nose. She saw the innards of the security system, hanging limp, the wires wound precariously around Helena's fingers as she tried to divert the energy field. No, this was happening too fast!

Pete elbowed her and Artie signaled for her to make her way toward him. Both of her fellow agents looked for some sign that she was still with them, ready to proceed. Though she was still reeling from her – whatever it was that just happened – she quickly jumped back in, spurred on by the possibility that history might repeat itself as she watched Helena tinker with the wiring.

Myka took in the bulk of fabric, leather and clasps that could only be the artifact nuclear device; the ticking, now barely more than a muted thump. There must have been at least four artifacts encasing the source of their undoing. Artie swore secretly under his breath, more for luck than anything else and eyed Helena cautiously. He hoped that Helena's theory of artifact interactivity would work to their advantage and shield them from the blast. With an austere sense of finality, Artie took the mess of artifact insulation and jammed it into the gaping mouth of the carpetbag, held open by Pete. The three warehouse agents put their heads together and peered through the opening, watching, with bated breath, as the artifacts fell into the dark oblivion of the bag's depths. The hope was that as the explosion filled the bag, it would continue to create infinite space to enclose it.

The three of them now looked up and said their heartfelt goodbyes, just as before, each longing for a different outcome. Hoping, for the first time, that their words of affection and surrender were truly empty and meaningless as they tumbled from anxious lips.

Myka could feel her chest tighten with dread. She had barely survived the loss of the warehouse, of Helena, before. She didn't know if she had the strength to endure it a second time. She felt the pull of a single tear as it traced a path down her cheek. This was all too familiar. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Helena turn toward them, the incomplete circuit waiting to spark and ignite the diverted containment field. She could feel Pete's fingers wrap around her wrist, clammy and nervous.

"Here we go," the tentative lilt of their British counterpart signaled their next move.

Poised, muscles tense and active, Pete gave a sudden jerk, just as the field sparked overhead, pulling a primed Artie and Myka into a low dive. The three lunged and slid across the floor, away from the now visible energy field as it came down in a bright sheet of blue sparking light.

"Pete!" Artie called frantically. It seems that in his haste to move, he had miscalculated the field's location and the artifact was sitting just outside the eventual edge of the swiftly closing field.

Pete hauled himself up on one elbow and gave the carpetbag a decisive kick, sending the artifacts squarely within the perimeter of the field as it popped and sealed.

"What-?" Helena sputtered and rushed to the agents before a sharp yank dragged her to the ground. Myka pulled Helena down and held her close, trying as best as she could to shield her, on the off chance their plan should fail.

Just then, the telltale beep signaled the end of the dreaded countdown and the start of the longest moment of their lives.

They heard it before they saw it: the low rumble of a muffled explosion. At first it seemed miles away, as if it was coming through speakers with the volume dialed down. Pete pulled himself up and tried to catch a glimpse of what was happening.

The satchel containing the various artifact impediments rocked and jumped, the fight raging within causing it to keel about. Pete cocked his head as a bright red line snaked its way out from the seam, the faint rip of fabric barely audible. He watched as the thin red line began to crawl outward, consuming the bag, reducing it to papery ash.

"The bag's toast, guys, thar she blows!" HG, dragged Pete back down and tried to cover all three of the warehouse agents with her own thin body. Myka grabbed frantically at the lapels of Helena's jacket, pulling her close, wanting to shift so she was again protecting the lithe woman, but there wasn't time.

The bag began to peel and bubble and all at once the containment field was awash with bright red and black. Billowing smoke and flames that beat against it as it sparked, laced with energy from the now distant shackle. Then there came the terrifying blows. They roared from the center of the arc and Artie prayed to any god who would listen that the artifacts, which were now little more than ash, had swallowed the worst of the explosions.

It was then that their worst fears were pulled violently into actuality as the shield flickered like an old TV set losing power, the rampage within giving little sign of letting up.

"The blast is condensed in too small a space, it's going to punch right through the barrier!" Artie screamed over the deafening onslaught. Pete tugged on Myka and Helena, motioning that they needed to move, and quickly. Myka glanced at Artie over her shoulder and he nodded.

The four of them struggled hastily to their feet and made a dash for the steel table they'd been working at previously. They could hear the blast becoming softer, fewer and farther apart, but they each new their luck would not allow the barrier to hold. Pete and Artie made it safely behind the now tipped table, pressed against it like soldiers in a makeshift war trench.

Myka, with Helena pressed flush against her, made the mistake of looking back, momentarily mesmerized as the flames rippled, hypnotic, against their failing prison.

"Myka, please! Come on!" Helena cried.

But the artifact refused to wait any longer. With one final blow, it ripped through the blue lace of the energy field and rushed into every corner of the ovoid quarantine. Helena shoved Myka roughly down behind the makeshift fortress as the flames licked angrily at her heals before sputtering out.

"Helena!" The younger woman's cry was swallowed by smoke billowing from the cracked containment sphere, swirling into the warehouse. She scrambled to right herself and groped blindly until her fingers brushed Helena's. She gripped and pulled with all her strength until the inventor's body was safely cradled in her arms.

Myka shifted as the shield dissolved entirely and the warehouse went suddenly, eerily silent. The barrage had subsided and the only sound was the flames dying as they burned through the oxygen in the room and the collective sigh of their little band.

It was over. The bomb had detonated, Sykes had been dealt with, and they had all survived. Emerald green eyes started to sting with tears and smoke as Myka pulled Helena into a loose hug.

"You did it! We made all made it, because of you." She sighed with relief, and then faltered. Helena's body felt suddenly heavy in her arms and she could feel the other woman's muscles slacken. Myka pulled out of their embrace in time to see dark coal eyes flutter and close as Helena's head dropped onto her shoulder.

"Myka?" Helena's voice was thin as it rasped into Myka's neck. Small and thin. Myka gathered Helena's face in cupped hands and shook her own head vehemently. Helena closed her eyes and a sharp hiss escaped her lips as pain, new and jagged, ripped through her. Helena knew the lie in Myka's words. They hadn't – wouldn't – all survive this. She could still feel the lick of flames, though they had been extinguished. She knew the burns were there, a part of her, as the searing pain started to overwhelm her senses. Her eyes fluttered, trying to capture Myka before they closed indefinitely. Then, she felt it. The blissful numbness that people sometimes say comes just before the end.

She smiled weakly, vaguely aware of Myka cradling her face, calling to her while Pete and Artie scrambled to her side. Pete looked from Myka's bloodstained shirt to HG, then Artie and shook his head. Myka barely registered the dampness seeping through the sleeves of her thin jacket as they bloomed red, watered by the stain of Helena's blood. Helena knew the fire had caught her, reaching up her body to rake at her back. It didn't matter though.

She had invited death the moment she diverted the barrier. She had been ready to bid farewell to this too-long life, so long as she could secure Myka's safety. Though things had not gone quite according to plan, the same still held true. The woman she loved was safe. The one person in the entirety of time and space who could save her from herself. Now Helena had offered herself, all that she was and all that she had, to repay the favor.

She gathered all of her remaining strength and reached up to run gentle fingers through Myka's hair, caressing her cheek before her hand dropped limply. Myka caught it as it fell, tears falling, forced out by choking sobs.

"Helena. Stay with me! This isn't supposed to happen!" Myka begged and pleaded.

The Victorian drew a shaky breath and mouthed the words, "Thank you." She would not leave this world until Myka knew the deep, unwavering gratitude she harbored in her heart.

Her strength gave way to weakness and her finger's slipped from those of the woman crying above her. She exhaled her final breath, the smell of apples invading her senses as she was carried from this world, the memory of Myka's face staying to the last.


	10. I Became Awake

"Myka!" Claudia bellowed as she banged down the hallway, skidding to a stop in front of her friend's closed door. "Jesus, Myka," she barged, unceremoniously, into the room, only to behold an exhausted agent sprawled out, asleep, on the still-made bed. The woman she loved like a sister had been pushed to her limits over the last few days. She hadn't slept at all. Not since the warehouse almost – no Claudia corrected herself – not since Helena.

She crossed delicately toward the bed and leaned in to brush a stray curl from Myka's face. Claudia knew exactly how Myka felt. The hollow defeat of death as it overcomes your senses. The evaporation of all the love and care you had poured into one single person as they slip from this world. Claudia was almost tempted to let Myka sleep, but the alternative was well worth the waking and they'd already let her sleep more than they should have.

She whispered the woman's name, eliciting little response. Claudia cocked her head and then shrugged. She sat on the bed and shook Myka's shoulders, perhaps more violently than strictly necessary.

"Who? Wha- Claudia!" She woke with a start, "Really, Claud? I had just fallen asleep!"

Claudia simply stilled herself on the bed and allowed her face to break into a wide grin, something that had become a rarity over the last few days. The smile sat oddly on Claudia's pointed face, but it's meaning became evident as Myka allowed realization to wash over her.

"Really?" Myka's face, tired and sunken as it was, pulled into a grin as Claudia nodded emphatically. She rose pulling the young agent up into a bone-crushing hug.

"Hey!" Claudia wheezed, "Don't waste it all on me!"

They clamored off the bed and Claudia could barely keep pace with Myka s they darted down the hall. Myka stopped short in the doorway to the room she had only recently vacated. For three days she had spent every moment in this room amid equipment that beeped and whirred, pressed against the railing of a what could only be described as a hospital bed, the origin point for what seemed like hundreds of wires. In face it was more like an incubator or, if she had to be crude, a warming tray, the dormant body within shielded by some sort of metal webbing that flashed and bathed it in an eerie light.

None of this was currently present, however. The webbing had retracted, and instead of a prostrate body, there sat a living, breathing woman.

Myka pushed past the threshold and beheld the most beautiful sight she had ever seen: Helena Wells. Upright. Eyes open and alert. Her breath hitched as she struggled in vain to choke back a sob.

Helena smiled weakly and opened shaky arms to receive a desperately overjoyed Myka. She hissed out a slightly pained breath as Myka gingerly pulled back to take her in.

"You're awake." Myka managed. Anxious hands went to Helena's pale face, tracing her jaw and weaving through sleep slick, raven hair. "Awake and alive. You, living breathing, beautiful woman, are alive and awake." She struggled for words, failing to come up with any other than those currently tumbling from her grateful mouth. The tears followed her sentiment, sneaking from the corners of her olive eyes.

Helena's smile broadened, "So it would seem, though I'm not quite sure how." She hastily added, "not that I'm complaining, mind you. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Myka laughed and thought back over the last few days. Artie had managed to keep Helena with them on some sort of "artifact life-support" while Claudia made numerous phone calls. Then, like bees to a hive, the B & B was flooded with people. Suits and lab coats flashed as a small medical team set up camp in Helena's Spartan bedroom. Regents, scientists, even Mr. Kosan filtered through their little inn. Then Dr. Calder showed up with some aluminum cases emblazoned with the Global Dynamics insignia, trailed closely by a very familiar bespectacled face.

"Apparently the damage was quite severe, but Mr. Fargo has been trying to explain the means by which he was able to heal the burns and rebuild my legs. I'll admit, it's a bit technical." Helena pulled Myka's focus back to the present.

"If it's a challenge for you, you must still be really out of it," Myka teased, skirting the comment regarding the severity of Helena's injuries. The burns to her body were indeed deep and covered 75% of her person. Myka could barely contain herself during those dark days but she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind, choosing instead to flood her memory with visions of this beautiful, whole, woman before her.

"Agent Wells is being modest." A voice cut in as a very familiar young man in thick glasses sidled around the bed to check the equipment. Myka sighed and greeted Douglas Fargo with a crooked smile. She reached across to him with an open palm and firmly grasped his hand in her own. She attempted, during this short exchange, to convey the depth of her gratitude, and he nodded, a warm, though awkward grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I had hoped this would, I don't know, make us even-steven after that whole gaming-tea-Beatrix Potter-almost-killing-you debacle." He shrugged.

Myka simply laughed. "Fargo, I will never be able to repay you for what you, all of you, have done for us over the last few days." Fargo moved to speak and she quickly interrupted, "That doesn't mean that you can use any artifacts housed here," He motioned and she again cut him off, "And that doesn't mean you should go looking for trouble. I'm grateful, but I'm not above letting Claud beat the snot out of you if you do something stupid."

This seemed to quiet Fargo and he nervously went back to inspecting the stasis-contraption.

"I daresay you're frightened the poor thing," Helena laughed through a pinch in her side, wincing slightly. "Now, as I've been led to understand, Mr. Fargo's company has developed a rather ingenious organic skin wrap;" Myka wrinkled her nose out at this, Helena smiled and continued, "the wrap lays over damaged skin and reacts with the tissue, repairing it. It was, if I remember correctly, developed specifically to treat burns. Am I correct, Mr. Fargo?"

"It's doctor Fargo, and yes." Myka snorted at this, she knew that Helena was well aware of Fargo's status, but failed to address him as such purposefully. She wondered over the reasoning behind this and guessed that it was either that she felt him beneath her, or simply because she knew it would irk the young man. Either indicated that she was truly getting back to her old self.

"Now Agent Wells, still has some of the wrap attached as some of her burns were incredibly severe and deep, and the wrap is still creating muscle and tissue around the new hybrid-steel architecture in her legs, but she should be fine within the next few days." Fargo addressed Myka, pulling her from Helena's side to stand near the door. He motioned for Myka to keep her voice down and looked back at Helena over his shoulder. The Brit gave a cheeky wave.

"Okay, Myka. I need to ask you something, and I need you to give me an honest answer." Myka knit her brow, worrying over Fargo's tone. "Now, I have that woman's chart. I've been working on her for the last three days." Myka nodded.

"Get to the point, Fargo."

"Right." He presented the chart. "HG Wells? Like the writer? Seriously?" His voice cracked unceremoniously, and Myka glanced back at Helena, obviously tickled by this interchange. "But she's a girl! A woman. A – well, you know! And it says here she's 145 years old!"

"One hundred and forty-six, actually!" Helena's flutey voice called over. "Just had a birthday not so long ago. Course I was out-of-body at the time, but that seems neither here nor there, wouldn't you agree?" Fargo shot an annoyed look back at Myka.

"This place is weird." Fargo stormed from the room, passing Claudia on his way.

"Nice to meet you pot, call me kettle!" the redhead called after him. She turned to Myka and HG, "When I visited him, trees, a fighter plane, and a mine field materialized in the middle of his town, but a nineteenth century author gets his knickers in a twist?" she shook her head and stood smiling at HG and Myka.

"What?" Myka asked after a moment of silence.

Claudia rushed Myka and hugged her, taking HG's hand as she did. "You two!" She released Myka and stepped back again. "I'm just so freaking stoked, is all. I mean, HG totally twigged me, and I knew you totally dug her, Myka, but," Claudia took a breath from her explanations, "It's just... y'know. Awesome."

HG looked slightly bewildered. "I twigged you? Should I apologize?"

"You twigged. You pinged?" HG shook her head. Claudia clenched her fists in mock frustration. "I knew you liked girls!" Myka blushed and Helena let escape a light, lyrical chuckle. "And I knew Myka liked you. It was freaking obvious to anyone with eyes. Or ears. Or a pulse." She reasoned.

Myka and Helena just grinned at one another.

"Okay, now you're just being disgustingly adorable and if there's one thing I can't stand, its that." Claudia cut between them and faced HG. "H, I know you're like battling death still, or whatever, but I want to talk to you about our research – which totally saved the day, B T Dub. And I have another little problem I've been going over with Doug, er, Fargo that we could use your help on. No rush." Helena nodded.

"Of course. You know I will always be there for anything you might need." Helena ducked her head affectionately and took the young agent's hand. "Apparently, not even death can stop me from doing my utmost."

Claudia shifted, then carefully wrapped her arms around Helena's neck in a gentle embrace. "Thanks. I mean it." she whispered.

"My pleasure." Helena returned as she was released.

"Okay, now you lovebirds don't go too crazy, she's still, like, partly dead and stuff."

The two women laughed and Claudia turned from the room.

"She's right you know." Myka crossed back to Helena and took her hand, gently turning it palm up and tracing her lifeline with delicate fingers. "I love you. I have, for a long time." Helena caught Myka's hand and pulled her close. She found herself in Myka's eyes and stretched just enough to brush her lips lightly against the other woman's. She traced Myka's hairline noting the curl and bend of her hair that had returned after days without straightening. Myka could feel the smile push against her lips.

"What?"

"Your hair, darling." Helena smiled up at the younger woman, "It's curling. I've missed it."

Myka caught a strand and threaded it, self-consciously through her fingers. "I don't even know why I started straightening it. It was easier, I guess." Helena eyed her suspiciously, "Okay, I think I did it because it reminded me of you."

Helena positively beamed and Myka's cheeks burned crimson.

"You should stop. I'm here now, no reminder needed." Helena pulled her in, kissing her quickly, "And it's one of the first things that drew me to you, your beautiful curls. They were the rabbit-hole of my love for you and I have yet to stop falling."

Myka let escape a staccato laugh.

"That was –" she stopped short, deciding instead to punctuate her sentiment with a kiss. Helena's silver tongue had quite a reputation and Myka found the mix of her charisma and her sleep-and-medication addled head to be fairly adorable. She drew Helena close, letting her tongue dance on the edge of the almost deepening kiss. She sighed into their intimate embrace, however, allowing the previous interruption from Claudia to derail her intent.

Helena, recognizing the shift in mood drew back and motioned for Myka to join her on the bed, making room as the younger woman slid in. Myka reclined, allowing Helena to shift and lay with her head resting in the valley of her chest. The Victorian sighed as she took in the dull rhythm of Myka's heart and felt instantly more settled than she had in over one hundred years.

"I'm sorry." Myka didn't want the weight of their recent circumstance to intrude, but she couldn't seem to help it.

"Darling there's no need. We have he rest of our lives to be in love with one another. Lives full of embraces and intimate moments." Myka nodded almost imperceptibly and Helena noted a slight pick up in her heart rate. She turned and kissed Myka's sternum, "But we are still recovering from a great tragedy. A tragedy which some of you were made to suffer twice."

"How did– "

"Mrs. Fredrick. But there's time for that later as well." Helena felt Myka's chest rise and fall, the breath a sighing hiss rattling in her chest. "I know what Claudia is going to ask. I remember my visits to the warehouse while separated from my body. She loved that young man like a brother and a best friend. He gave his life to save you all. To try and save you from me."

"Helena. You couldn't have known."

"I know. But she is going to come back in here and ask me to help her use an artifact to bring him back. And I just– "

"I know." Myka stroked her love's inky hair, careful to avoid causing pain. She knew that Helena was struggling. She had read the woman's files from warehouse 12, of her endless search for a way to undo the death of her daughter, the lives that were spent in the process. She knew that Helena should not be made to bear this, but Myka also knew that it was pointless to try and talk Helena out of helping Claudia. Even if it tore her apart, Helena had made up her mind to be of assistance.

Now it was Helena's turn to sigh.

"Where is Claudia now, do you suppose?" She asked of Myka.

"Probably trying to take Andy apart, if I know her."

"Andy?" Helena sat up slowly.

"Yeah, he's this robocop that came with Fargo." Myka shrugged.

"Wait, that young man in uniform, the deputy, he's an automaton?"

"A robot, yeah. Why?" Myka let her last question drawl lazily. She caught it, just for a moment, that spark in Helena's eye. It was the same look she got before deciding to dismantle the toaster. "Oh no, Helena. What are you thinking."

"I'm thinking that I need to get out of this bed and packed. I have an idea, and we have a road trip to take."


	11. Still Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

Sunlight filtered through gray clouds and peeked through the slatted blinds, creeping across rumpled covers. Helena felt a deep sigh rumble in her chest as she roused, fighting consciousness in the hopes of a few more minutes rest. She could feel a pleasant weight across her now-mended ribs and the faintest breath tickling the exposed skin at her collarbone. She shifted delicately, refusing to open her eyes and curled into the body next to her. She breathed in the other woman, thick with sleep and layered with that other unknown scent that was so decidedly Myka.

She traced the path from the younger woman's waist, up her side, feeling the contraction as the she breathed; up her bicep to her shoulders. She had more than enough time to memorize the curve of Myka's body between the nights the other woman had spent in her bed, refusing to leave the time traveler unattended while she healed, which then slipped easily into nights as an invited guest. She moved blind fingers to trace the smooth jaw line and thread in messy curls, letting escape a satisfied sigh as she settled deeper into her love's arms.

Helena could feel Myka stir, draw closer, and smile into her neck. The no longer sleeping agent woke slowly, stretching languidly before wrapping herself gingerly around the Brit in her bed. Helena felt the care in Myka's limbs as they wound, gently capturing her. It had been almost a month since the explosion had Myka had remained ever-vigilant, caring for Helena in a way that no one ever had before.

Helena had put up with her stint as an invalid about as well as could be expected. That is to say: not very well at all. She had little patience for staying still and so used her time of forced relaxation to concoct a scheme that might provide a solution to Claudia's problem. Then, suddenly, she demanded a change of locale, and they bundled up to visit their friends at Global Dynamics.

The medical team (and Fargo) had long since retreated from Leena's, leaving behind strict orders that Helena was to remain at the B&B until they could verify her full recovery. Claudia had teased that they were purposefully delaying the delivery of a clean bill of health knowing, full well, Helena's intent to make her way to the West coast for a visit. But eventually, she had been given the proper clearance to return to duty, which meant it was time for a road trip!

What transpired over the last few days could only be described as a hurricane of events. The women of Warehouse 13 had invaded GD, Claudia and HG working on a "top secret" project with many of the prominent scientists the facility (and Fargo) had boasted over the years. Even Hugo had been called for a consultation. Myka, rather than loiter in the lab, spent her time acquainting herself with the locals, taking in the sights and sounds, and chatting with the local law enforcement.

As soon as they had come, though, it seemed their trip was over, and it was the morning of their return that found that two women loitering in their now shared room. It was a big day – a day of possibilities – where Helena and Claudia would put their joint scientific venture to the test and hopefully right a few wrongs in the process.

Helena pulled herself up and reclined against the headboard, leisurely stroking the errant curls framing Myka's face.

The other woman grumbled and curled into Helena's side, burying her face in the bed sheets. "Too early!" came the muffled cry and Helena laughed.

"You are up before six everyday, my love. This is late." She felt the shift as the curly-hair shook, no, from side to side. "Plus it's a big day. For me and for Claudia."

Myka conceded, petulantly, and placed a kiss atop HG's thigh before rising to sit up, next to the other woman.

"Right. Big day." She threaded her fingers with Helena's and they sat in silence for a long moment.

* * *

"Is it supposed to flash like that?" Pete yelled over the loud siren that was wailing in the background. "Or be that loud?"

Claudia and Helena were rushing around the workbench, fiddling with the power supply as Myka looked at the table in shock.

They had done it!

She was staring at Steve's reclining form. He was a perfect copy, down to the peach fuzz of his shaved head growing back in. A current of electricity ran the length of his arm and singed the fabric around his copper buttoned jacket cuff. It was a literally shocking reminder that the man before her was not really Steve, but his robotic counter part.

She almost couldn't believe it.

"Myka! Stand back, we're introducing the artifact and you don't want to be caught in the cross-fire, darling!" Helena shouted over the persistent wailing of the siren.

"Shouldn't we wait?" Myka called. "I mean, the alarm means something is wrong, right?"

Claudia shook her head and shooed Myka from their workspace. It was then she noticed something that could only be likened to jumper cables latched onto a tall hookah, the origin point of which seemed to be an outlet in robo-Steve's neck. The tubes of the hookah siphoned into to an ornate Rube Goldberg-esque chemistry set with twists and turns one might see in a mad science movie. They all culminated in a single point which fed directly into an intricately carved glass bottle, no larger than a fist.

Helena had explained that the hookah drew a person's soul from their body and so they were going to coax it into a vessel that could then take up residence in Steve's robotic body. Myka was lost when it came to the mechanics of it all, but she did find the idea rather romantic, that a person's soul could live on even after their body gave out.

The current process was less romantic, however. It was loud and raucous and Helena was possessed by some whirlwind force that perpetuated her in a frenzy. It was almost too much.

Almost.

"Claudia! On my mark!" Claudia stood by a comically large switch, wired into each aspect of their experiment.

"Shouldn't we have some sort of chaperone? Y'know, someone to stop us from doing crazy stuff that could kill us?" Pete flailed his arms to no avail. "Stuff like this?!"

Helena ignored is insistent cries.

"Alright Claudia… NOW!"

Claudia threw the switch and the air became hot with electricity. There was a loud CRACK, and a blinding flash of light before the entire area lost power and everything went dark.

* * *

"Uh guys? Hello? Anyone?" a voice rang out, clear and deep.

Another answered, though not one they were expecting. "Hello, all. I'm sure there's a reason that the west lab is completely dark and this entire section of the grid is blown!" Artie's voice was irritated. They couldn't see his face, but they didn't need to, to know they'd all be doing inventory for a month.

Claudia groaned.

"Is that our littlest miscreant? Come to suck the power from the rest of the warehouse? I know you're down here, Claudia!"

"Artie, I can explain," the British accent punctuated the darkness.

"Oh, I'm sure I'd  _love_  to know what you're all doing down here," Artie started.

"While you're explaining it to him, can someone explain it to me?" everyone froze. That voice... it was so familiar.

"Steve?" Claudia ventured. "Steve, is that you?"

"I hope you'd be able to recognize my voice. Otherwise, what kind of BFFWYLION would you be?" He laughed. "How did I get here? And why am I so stiff?"

At that moment, the backup generator kicked on and the room was flooded with light. Artie went slack-jawed as the agents took in the sight of a newly awake and upright Steve Jinx. He craned his neck, taking in their surprised faces.

"It worked." Pete ran a hand through his hair and staggered backward a step. "Steve 2.0! He's ALIIIIIIIIIIIVE!" with that the agent rushed the table, wrapping Steve in an immense bear hug.

"Of course it worked!" HG snorted incredulously, at which point Myka draped an arm over the inventor's shoulder, kissing her, sweetly, on the cheek.

"Will someone tell me what the HELL is going on!?" Artie bellowed.

"Chill out gramps, we're just looking after one of our own." Artie stammered a long string of incomplete questions. "And don't worry," the red-head continued. "We got the proper clearance for all of our shenanigans, so no reason to get your panties in a bunch. We answer to a higher authority."

"Like the hotdog!" Pete piped up.

Steve, for his part just looked bewildered, but happy to be home and surrounded by his warehouse family. Claudia, hand in his, smiling like a loon. Helena and Myka leaning happily into one another. Pete, arm clamped around Steve's shoulder rattling on about robo-pecs or some nonsense, and Artie, chastising them to the last. However it had happened, Agent Jinx had never been happier or more grateful to be alive.


End file.
